A Skip of the Rhythm
by CaliforniaTD
Summary: Hilja North-Strider, a nordic thief and her dunmer friend are laying low in Morthal after a series of heists. When settling in, the thief reveals an untold story of her encounter with a nightblade in the heist crew.


**The second of many coming short stories in the Elder Scrolls universe, the latter which is built in the vein of pulp magazines of old.**

**Keep in mind that even though all these stories are self-contained in their own right, they will still be connected in more ways than one. A new viewer can read each without having to read the rest, though readers who are familiar with the anthology I'm creating will recognize several plot points, recurring characters, and references from other stories.**

Hilja North-Strider avoided telling stories and anecdotes whenever she could. Partly because nearly every story she could tell was a story she could not spin without making something sound awkward, but mostly because she became tired of that during her days at the Thieves Guild. For a society of cutpurses and charlatans, they certainly made all too sure that each member, be they a pickpocket or a cat burglar, underwent a full debriefing.

The mahogany haired nord knew that Tilse, her dunmer companion would immediately be reminded of the incident in Whiterun four months prior when two men scurried out of a nearby tavern, engulfed in flames. "SHIT! BIG BOULDERS OF SHHHII-"

They dashed by the front of the stagecoach the two travelers hitched on to immerse themselves in the nearby icky water. Though flames seemed to cover their shoulders, arms, and trunks, it was somewhat easy to make out their appearances as they passed. One was clearly an imperial or breton, dressed in clothing that seemed to big for him. The other distinctly seemed to be a cross-dressing orc male in a ballroom gown.

In the week they had been hitching a ride across central and west Skyrim, it was a somewhat refreshing, even if a little foreboding omen that the town of Morthal would probably be the craziest and offbeat town they would ever visit.

The wagon jockey leaned back and smacked the rail of the wagon twice. "This is as far as I can take you to Morthal without my wagon sinking into the ground. Ain't a cozier place in the hold of Hjaalmarch..." He smiled, then sank lower, expressionless. "Yeah... sad, isn't it?"

"It's only the most economically depressed hold in Skyrim." Tilse Dres huffed with unsubtle snark, grasping her packs as well as a large wooden chest. She gazed out at the odorless bogs and macabre looking trees, some dead oak, a few weeping willows, all polished with a veneer of fog. The main town, mostly built on docks in the marshland lie meters ahead of them across a rickety plank bridge. "Makes Bravil look like Sunhold."

Oaths of disgruntled patrons walked out of the tavern to see the fate of the two men who doused themselves in the marsh, both stepping out of the water, somewhat blackened, and waving their hands about to shake off water, embarrassed. The owner of the establishment, an imperial with long hair and a thick mustache stepped out and pinched both sides of his tongue with his pinky fingers, whistling briefly. "Good show everyone. Everyone gets a round a' free drinks and tobacco, come on back in."

Tilse helped Hilja down off the wagon, the wagon driver helping haul their luggage into the tavern itself, each pack and vessel enchanted to weigh less and carry further.

Hilja sat in a corner of the tavern, flanked by various bags, one of them under the table they sat at, her sandaled toes wiggling in their joints and caressing the leather hide of the luggage. After stiff bread and dried meat on the Jarl's highway, she was more or less enthusiastic about eating large potions of fresh food. How fresh and high quality they would be in a town like this was left to her suspense.

Tilse mingled around the bar area, feeling her lower back being smacked in the crowd by an unknown agitator. Whoever did it likely meant to hit a little lower, but was either too drunk or had poor hand eye coordination to get spot onto the target. The mustached man and a young, blonde harelipped nord barmaid with a spotty blackened birthmark on her neck stood on the opposite side of the bar. The man himself leaned over. "Welcome to the Three Knuckled Tavern, the name's Valentinus! What can I get you?" The words were short and crammed together as if coated with molasses.

She poured a few septims from her pouch. "Two potato and leek soups, one leg of goat, a twist of tobacco, a pitcher of alto wine and a pitcher of water."

Valentinus gathered the coins, counting them out with hands more calloused than his. "A bit hungry after being on the road, eh dark elf?"

Tilse's crimson eyes narrowed. "More weary. A room for two as well. We'll probably be staying for a while."

"Nobody comes to Morthal to stay, sister, even a week." Valentinus smiled, a hint of devlishness in his eyes, and the smile crooked to one side of his mouth. Dres knew there was something very odd about the man, but something told her there was no malice in him, at least not a robust amount. "This town is positively shitty, worth less than a eunuch skeever." With a roll of graphite, he smeared some things on a paper as he spoke. "I'll get those orders in for you. We've got a dogfight happening in a few minutes if you've some coin to risk. Talk to the argonian in the bright red jacket if you want to wager."

She nodded mouthing a 'thank you' before returning to the table. Taverns and inns usually had several attractions apart from the food and drink, such as bare knuckle boxing, dogfights, cockfights, and non-violent gambling endeavors such as cards, dice, nine-holes, and bosmer checkers. Morthal fiscally thrived on what little agricultural exports it had, though heavily relied on an underground economy of illicit narcotic materials such as skooma, moon sugar, and red poppy.

Tilse pulled the rickety chair opposite Hilja back, the legs humming against the rough wooden floor. She sat down, elbows on the surface, and her chin planted on one fist. Her nordic friend munched on a bundle of green grapes, most of them shriveled and browning, spitting out the seeds into a kettle planted in a third chair at the table. She grasped her hair, untying her low half ponytail before wiping the sweat that had begun to gather on her widow's peak. Her long lashed green eye twitched, her stocky, yet smooth facial features fighting back an expression of dread.

Tilse's red eyes darted about, her mouth covered by her fist, her cheeks more pronounced than ever, and red tribunal tattoo under her right eye was lopsided, she scratched her dirty pixie cut hair, bits of dandruff floating downward onto her shoulders.

"So." Tilse spoke. "You know what this tavern reminds me of?"

"You greyskinned shrew, damn you." Hilja scoffed, holding slapped her forehead, making a toothy sneer.

"Well, when are you going to tell me? You've been holding out on me for months." Tilse cackled, leaning back when their drinks were served, first the wooden cups being plopped down, then the steel pitchers. Tilse grasped the water pitcher, filling the cup nearly to its brim and handing it to Hilja. The dunmer grasped the opposite vessel then poured herself some of the wine. "We're several days away from Whiterun. No one's going to come looking for you here, especially with our identity papers forged."

Hilja's hand was removed from her forehead, arching down and clasping the wooden cup. The rim met her lips and emptied the vessel of its water. "I'd like to put it off, at least a little bit longer." She explained, the cup striking the table upside-down, the fingers of her hands locking on top of one another in a fold.

"I say you shouldn't." Tilse retorted semi-respectfully, taking a sip of wine. "If the thought of speaking about this grieves you, then I would suggest getting it over with."

Hilja's facial muscles accumulated into an odd expression which seemed to vaunt a mixture of emotions, reminiscent of three or four bumbling jesters trying to get through a doorway at the same time. She poured herself another cup of water, setting the pitcher down and bringing the cup to her maw once more, this time availing a small sip. This excited Tilse, because it implied that she was going to savor the rest for a long winded story that would surely parch the mouth when orated.

"Alright, Tilse. Just so you know, back in Whiterun, things on my end went smoothy apart from a few very minor details. Minor details that I wish were left intact..."

* * *

Gleeful and mannerly vibes were present at the exterior of the Battle-Born compound. The famous family hosted a ball once every six months on their parcels of territory in the city of Whiterun, and most of the time they were positive events, filled with dancing, drinking and companionship.

The only spark in the oil it needed was a wooden chair thrown through a stained-glass window, as well as the shouting of a small mob of aggressors within the the party. This collection of angry nords were not common rabble, but the feuding family of the hosts. They were known as the Grey-Manes, and the congregation had more than a few bones to pick with the Battle-Borns.

The shouting and sounds of fighting and strife echoed out of the manor. Hilja looked back, satisfied that the instigated distraction had worked, ensuring the safety of the crew that heisted the compound's treasury. Everything was good, for now.

Save for a few small details. The unexpected visitors, as well as the Battle-Born's drunken betrothed cousin who remained to look after the treasury and living quarters, as if the sellswords hired to maintain vigilance over the compound were not enough.

To make matters worse, she was forced to ditch her leather billet jacket, wool shirt and trousers at the living quarters. Wearing nothing but a neck hung leather bra, a loincloth, high strung sandals, and a steel sword belted around her waist. On her right hand she wore a quadruple wrapped steel bracelet, melded to resemble a snake, and a nickel arm bracelet, jeweled with thick half spheres of ivory and turquoise. On her neck she wore a gold and sapphire amulet. All of these pieces of jewelry she stole from the compound. Unfortunately, this made her look even more like a barbarian harlot than ever without her clothing.

She sighed as she placed space between the building and herself, hoping that few people would spot her in her indecent state. Not that it would matter, as all manners of half-naked hunters and barbarian mercenaries mingled in the city of Whiterun's Plains district. Hilja, however, was in the higher class Wind district, full of aristocrats and family men who would not want their neighborhood to be subjected to such riff raff.

As a fire had clearly broken out at the Battle-Born manor, there were the sounds of approaching footsteps and the cricketing of steel armor. She took a deep breath and sighed. "Act natural. Act like a barbarian..." She whispered to herself. "Actually, no don't act like one just act like you're some idiot who lives here."

Five whiterun guards in steel armor sprinted toward the sight of the fire and the sounds of screaming and combat. For the most part, they seemed to pass by wordlessly. Hilja smiled and continued onward down the stone steps toward an alley. It was then that the sounds returning, coming back from the way she was coming from and going her way. "Hold there!" A voice spoke up.

She rolled her eyes and turned, facing two guards, one a male with a war axe and a shield with the wolf crest of Whiterun pointed on it, and the other a female guard with a jagged bill polearm in both of her hands. The male stared her down for a few seconds, mostly below eye contact for a bit before he started speaking. "Are you returning from the Battle-Born compound?" The nord man spoke, his Whiterun accent showing. He grasped the faceplate of his nordic helmet and lifted it up, revealing a man with a peach-fuzz beard and blonde hair streaking outwards.

"Yes." Hilja saw no use in lying so early, especially in the situation she was in now. "Yes I was."

"Explain what happened there! Why is the building on fire, why does it sound like there's a bloody siege going on there." He growled. "Speak quickly!"

"I'm uncertain." Hilja responded. "Could have to do with those two intruders."

"What intruders?"

"I believe they were bosmer." She explained.

"Bosmer? Talk some sense, woman!" The guard had one hand firmly on the grip of his steel headed axe.

"Wood elves you simpleton!" The female guard behind him snapped. Embarrassed, the man's face blushed.

"Oh, right." The male guard cleared his throat. "Now, tell me... why are you dressed like this?"

This was the question she was hoping they would not ask, though at least its plausibility warranted a backup plan for the conversation. One that was a bit bold.

"My clothes got covered in blood." Hilja responded.

"Wait..." The guard responded. "What?"

"You heard me right. I had my clothes off and they were doused in blood when one of the attackers killed another man." Hilja was actually telling the truth, despite how blunt the story was at this point. Her green eyes glanced at the sword girded on her bare hip, as if contemplating a violent action. This was not a viable option. She was a thief, not a murderer, and especially not a guard-killer.

"Please explain further milady!" His hand gripped his axe once again, taking a few steps forward.

"What the hell is there to tell, constable?" The thief shrugged. "It's either this..." She beckoned down towards her body. "Or me walking around with blood on my clothes, looking like a goddamn axe murderer. I'm sure if I looked like that you'd spend far less time gazing at my tit cleavage and more time trying to run me through and ask questions afterward."

"I..." The man scoffed, unsure how to retort.

"Enjoying the show, Dunbar?" The female guard asked, walking over and grasping him by the pauldron. "Forget it, she knows nothing. We'll find her in the city and question her later. Let's go!" She pulled him back and they walked up toward the compound, the man looking backward every now and then, stammering.

Hilja lifted her hand up and fluttered her fingers in a patronizing farewell gesture before turning and entering a residential area of the Wind district, cutting through alleyways, where unwanted pottery and minor trash was cast near the walls. Whiterun was the second largest city in Skyrim, bested only by Windhelm which lie days away to the colder and icier northeast. The graffiti in Windhelm also triumphed over the graffiti in Whiterun or Riften, as the large number of dark elf immigrants contributed to it, and in Hilja's opinion, many dark elf artists were some of the greatest in Tamriel.

This did not change the fact that Whiterun's graffiti had a charm of its own. Unlike Riften's street art, these bits were tasteful and symbolic. She saw one, clearly the city's regent Jarl Balgruff the Greater painted with no more than green, blue, black and orange, and being uncomfortably burdened by an anvil with a dragon and a bear standing atop it and quarreling with one another. This was no doubt an allegory for the city's stance on the civil war, as well as the growing reality that it could no longer remain neutral.

Hilja loved art, no matter how extravagant or mundane. Ever since stealing a few paintings during her days at the thieves guild she developed an affection to each of them. The third era Imperial landscape art, the two colored abstract art from Morrowind, the out of proportion albeit strangely charming feudal breton paintings, and sculptures from Valenwood and Black Marsh. She would have loved to paint a portrait, and attempted on several occasions. Unfortunately, she grew too self-loathing as an artist, disliking each painting she was no more than ten minutes into. Her khajiit friend in the guild pressed on the fact that it was only natural for any artist to hate their own work, even a little, though the nord thief never applied this logic to assuage her frustration with her own creations.

"Hey!" A voice called from behind her, a few meters away. She took her eyes off the art and grasped the stock of her sword, turning and facing the source of the call.

"Hilja!" The voice strenuously whispered, a man, no more than five and a half feet tall, dressed in a beige wool jacket, fingerless leather gloves, black wool trousers, and mage boots. He wore a black hood atop of his head, loping slowly toward her in a tiptoe. She recognized him, even with the hood, her hand removed from the pommel of her steel nordic sword.

"Auric." Hilja greeted with a smile, somewhat discomfited that she had to see her in such a state of undress. "Did you get it? Did you get the heirloom?"

"Aye, I did." Auric responded, grasping under his lapel and bringing out a small solid gold egg, gilded with small bits of ruby and diamond all about it. He nudged off his hood, showing his shaggy auburn hair and worn features.

Auric Twin-Sky was a half nord, half forsworn thief who functioned as the main infiltrator in the heist. He was a trained nightblade, one who used magic to enhance his stealth abilities such as concealment and mobility. These types usually had an ominous reputation for being assassins, spies, and of course, thieves, which Auric happened to be. Even so, the man himself was well known for being gentle, subtle, respectful, calm, and somewhat distant. Though he was hardly nineteen, he looked a few years older, supposedly from a difficult and taxing early life.

What was peculiar about Auric was his bloodied right shoulder. At first Hilja had thought he had fought someone and drew their blood, but the broken, thin wooden shaft that stuck from an open wound implied otherwise.

"By the eight, Auric, you're bleeding!" Hilja stammered, feeling around her person as if to produce a handkerchief. She checked the pockets of his clothes for a suitable piece of cloth, though her wrists were grasped by his gloved hands, gently and non-aggressively.

"Easy, I had a small dose of opium. I'll nurse this wound when I get the chance." He reassured. His exposure to the narcotic was somewhat easy to pick out, as his demeanor seemed somewhat cloudy, and he was less tense than he usually was. Hilja removed her wrists from his grip, the forsworn looking down and shifting his weight somewhat sheepishly.

"Well, if you don't mind your injury, are you going to give me the egg?" Hilja asked, somewhat confused.

"I..." Auric turned to the side, confusing the woman even more. "I need to tell you something."

"Then spit it out before the guards catch on to the operation." Hilja gasped.

"My childhood has been strange and confusing ever since I was a wee lad." He began. "I spent my life running, killing, training, then living normally." He swallowed hard. "Then running, killing, and training at the same time."

"What the shit does this have to do with anything, Twin-Sky?" Hilja asked, looking around her nervously.

"I never had any outlet for my energy, other than the tasks I did, the work I did by each superior I moved on to." He continued, looking toward her. "Even in this naïve and violent life, I knew there had to be something more."

"Auric I told you to spit it out!" Hilja almost shouted, then realized the ramifications it could have.

"Shh! Shh!" Both his hands grasped one of hers. "I- I'm sorry. I don't know any other way to say this."

She wordlessly stared at him, her shadowed eyes making an empty and impatient glare.

"I- I-" His tongue seemed to be pinned to the roof of his mouth for a few moments. "Hilja, I- I love you."

Her eyebrow raised. "Wha-"

He let go of her hand and turned to the side once again. "All my life I've stayed celibate, teetotal, and unfocused on the idea of companionship, even with partners in crime." He cleared his throat. "But ever since laying eyes on you, I've wanted to spend the rest of my life no more than three feet away from you at all times." He began hyperventilating briefly. "I have never felt this way about anyone in my life. I've never thought of the concept of affection either. I just this sort of concept was merely an inconceivable texture for tall tales and books... but..."

Hilja stared at him, her jaw dropped two thirds of the way. Normally, with this kid's social execution, she would have seen this coming. It was only that she had been so focused on her work and other matters that she completely forgot such a possibility of behavior such as this.

"I'm almost certain this is love. And as I feel it, I know I am completely unprepared to deal with it." Auric sighed, looking back at her.

Hilja looked to her flanks before staring into space, then looking back toward him. "You sure you didn't have too much opium, there kiddo?"

"A near negligent amount." He admitted. "I just want to know, in my broken shell of a conscience and my blistered, festering naivety, have you ever felt anything like this before?"

"I can't tell what you're feeling for sure, Auric." Hilja dodged the question, scratching the side of her head. "I don't exactly share a nervous system with you."

"What about affection, you'd know that for sure if you felt it." He bit his upper lip. "Wouldn't you?"

"I guess I wouldn't." Hilja responded blinking. "My life has been pretty strange, too. Never had time for anything practical or romantic."

"Well." Auric spoke, swallowing hard. "I just want to ask you one more thing."

Hilja nodded. "Sure, why not."

He handed her the egg, which she took. "The thieves guild claimed they'd pay me ten talents of gold if I gave this to them, but I declined." Auric stared in her eyes, a delicate and subtle sensuality within his glare. "We leave the city in an hour... I have booked an inn in the southern part of the hold where you and could spend time together... until the crew meets up once again to split the cut. I just don't know if we'll ever get to see one another again."

A hint of sadness and regret swept through her face as she looked downward. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came out.

"Just a few hours, even a minute with you is all I want." Auric started to bite his upper lip again, even harder.

"I- I can't." Hilja spoke, a stern expression in her face. "I have to manage the lanes around that time."

Auric was expressionless, shifting it tone as he tried to suppress his emotions. "I- I understand." He nodded. "Good luck, and perhaps we will see each other again."

Hilja looked at him, watching him turn away and stride on the opposite path. "Auric, wait."

He stopped, looking over his shoulder. "Aye?"

She walked over to him, grasping both of his hands. "This isn't about me wearing what I'm wearing, is it?"

"What?" Auric looked confused, then looked downward. "Oh... I, er-"

Hilja nodded, smiling slightly. "You okay with something a little short?"

"Anything, milady." Auric's hazel eyes reflected the moonlight above. "Anything convenient for you."

She leaned over while still grasping his hands, looking toward a fork in the valley of civilized construction. "There's kind of a shitty spot of alleyway over there, but it's secluded. Not much at all, though..." She pulled him by one hand toward the southwest.

It was then Hilja had a bit of tangibility regarding her love for art. Never in her life did she question why paintings and sculptures had won her heart with such fervor. The nord only knew it helped her feel alive and fortified her sense of amity, spiritualism and unity. It was then she gathered the fact that she did not know what these emotions meant until she had spoken with a delirious and soppy Auric in the alley.

Trinkets, gold, jewels and antiques had been most of her life. She had been such a raging materialist that her humanity felt numb and utterly disjointed. This was the way with most thieves, though when she thought about it, she was almost certain that the others in the guild had displayed some form of enthusiasm for the human, elven, or life experience. She utilized her kleptomania as a coping mechanism for her jaded view on life. It was becoming all too clear. All because this stupid, bashful, ginger of a nightblade said something that made her think.

Hilja had experienced sexual encounters before, mostly with total strangers in inns who were weary, disenthralled, and libidinous from days or weeks of traveling. These men were usually traders, though there were a few sellswords, other thieves, and one bard she shared a bed with. They came with roguish smirks on their faces, peering into her like some disposable object they can make the most of before they went their separate way. She could not put her finger on the reason why she accepted the advances, though the occasional distraction from guild business was somewhat needed.

As much of a mushy lunatic Auric turned out to be in the later hours she knew him, she struck something alien, or perhaps long forgotten in her mind. Something pleasant, though rather mystical. This was not the only reason why she felt attracted to him, but possibly the most prevalent and disproportionate. With every second they made love against the alley wall, she felt more and more like she was reconnecting with herself once again. It was then when something profound had hit her. Auric had mentioned that he experienced a similar detachment from his being as she did, though was able to identify it. This could have very well been the reason she felt drawn to him.

After around two minutes, they had physically separated, Auric buttoning his trousers, and Hilja still leaning against the wall, her arms crossed as she sighed repeatedly, a smile on her face.

"Should I feel guilty for that?" Hilja asked, opening her eyes and looking his way.

He buckled his pants and smiled, facing her. "I think you should feel more guilty for wearing that, whatever it is."

Hilja chuckled, which turned into noisy laughter. With fresh thoughts and emotions, she felt like a new person. No longer could she contain her joy, even if the novelty somehow were to wear off for whatever reason any grim future had to offer. She was silent for a bit, and her hands went into her mouth as her teeth made contact with her fingernails. Auric looked to her, smiling and running his fingers down on lock of her hair. A few seconds of silence.

"I think we should start to focus on the task at hand." Hilja murmered.

Auric removed his hand from her head. "Correct. Should anyone see to the wagon drivers you bribed?"

"The ones I hired to haul the furniture are probably on their way now." Hilja spoke, walking away from the wall, her arms still crossed. "The ones hauling the rest of the gold are receiving their pay later on."

"You really had everything covered for this, eh lass?" Auric huffed, his head tilting.

"Nords can be cunning, too." North-Strider piped, turning to him. Auric suddenly grasped the back of her head, drawing her into his face, their lips meeting. That action alone seemed to be closer and more intimate than the intercourse itself.

They parted again, Hilja staring into his eyes. "Go. Do your part, or you don't get your share." She sternly said.

As the intimacy and surrealism of the moment had clearly dispersed, Auric nodded, though was still satisfied with the results. "See you tomorrow, milady." He took a few steps back, waved, his mouth opening as if he was going to say something else, though could not find the words. He then turned and disappeared into the night.

Hilja stood, looking around and mentally marking her direction. The inside of her thighs were still wet with the nightblade's seed, though she shrugged the sense off. "I'm a goddamn imbecile." She chuckled. "I'm the biggest wanker on the face of Nirn." Her mindset slowly adjusted from her surreal endeavor and back to the task at hand. The rest of the crew were no doubt waiting for her.

* * *

Tilse hand her hand on the spoon as it was mostly sunk into her potato leek soup. She stared at Hilja, who feverishly chipped away at the roasted goat's leg, occasionally dropping it down to comsume some more of her soup. She picked the massive, chewed up leg before her once again, plucking a chunk of meat off the thigh, chewing it, and swallowing before speaking. "And there you have it."

Tilse took another sip of wine, setting the cup down once again. "You've got to be lying." Tilse laughed. "I mean it explains what you were wearing, but-"

Hilja shook her head, gnawing out another section of meat and savoring the flavor.

"It's a bunch of guar shit. I knew it would be." Tilse shook her head and ate more of the soup in front of her. She looked back up, seeing that Hilja was staring her down. "If that's true, I don't know what to say. It's like something out of a bad romance novel."

"Even more so when I surprised him at the inn he stayed at, where we spent some more time before we parted ways." Hilja leaned back, taking her water-filled cup and downing it. She burped. "I think life is a really big book developed by some crazy, evil bastard, who has a legitimate and benevolent plan for all of us."

Tilse's eyes narrowed, leaning forward. She began to laugh uncontrollably. "Auric Twin-Sky! I would have never guessed." She leaned back. "Of all the n'wahs in Skyrim, it had to be him! That creepy fetcher?"

"Indeed." She set the leg of goat down on the platter, pushing it toward Tilse. "All yours now." Hilja confirmed. She held her hand out, palm up, the fingers fluttering back and forth as if beckoning for something. Tilse nodded and handed her the churchwarden, which the nord grasped by the thin of it, placing it on the surface. Hilja then took out her dagger, grasping the twist of tobacco in the center, the blade chopping off a thin coin of it, which she took with her hand and rolled up before dropping it into the cavity of the pipe. She grasped the lit candle in the center, tilting it slightly back and lighting the interior. Hilja took a couple of small tugs from her churchwarden pipe, savoring the taste in her mouth.

Tilse began chewing on the leg of goat, looking at her. "I don't mean to pry, since you're not me." The dunmer spoke with a mouthful, setting the leg down, and continuing to chew. "But isn't that unhealthy in your current state?"

Hilja smiled, blowing the smoke out and looking down. She closed her eyes and smiled warmly. "Don't worry, I don't inhale."

"You sure you won't regret it?" Tilse grasped the one remaining grape from the center bowl, placing it into her mouth.

"I won't, Tilse."

"Though you do miss him, right?"

"Not like some angst ridden maiden." Hilja dragged up another mouthful of smoke. "But yeah... even though I hardly knew the prick, I grow more fond of him with each passing day." She looked down once again, caressing her swollen belly.

"You're carrying his child. I suppose he's talking to you, saying he wants his da to see him grow up."

"Yeah. Wouldn't doubt it." She saw Valentinus step up to their table, his fingers locked. "How was everything, madams? Any complaints?"

"Delicious." Hilja responded. When the Imperial had begun to turn his back to see to other matters, she stopped him. "Sir, wait just a moment."

The nord scooted her chair back, lifting up the wooden chest. Tilse and Valentinus almost leaped up and asked to help her due to her condition, but she seemed to not have any grievances with the item. The chest was set on the edge of the table, Hilja opening it.

The sight almost blinded Valentinus, and shined with such luminescence that a couple of patrons lifted their heads out of their tankards of ale and looked toward the source. The innards of the chest were separated with three wooden boards, criss-crossed to the shape of a 'T'. The largest section was full of gold coins, and the smaller ones filled with gems, diamonds, and other antiques.

"There's one other chest as well. We'd like to invest in your tavern, this is more than enough to help you expand a little." Hilja smiled.

Valentinus sported a horribly flattered look about his face. "Can't ask where you all got this, I warrant."

"Does it really matter?" Hilja leaned over. "Listen to the money talk, Imperial. Also a free round of drinks for everyone here, on me."

Valentinus nodded, giving a salesman's close mouthed smile. "I think this is a start to a beautiful business partnership, ladies." He turned. "Guess what everyone! Yet another round of free drinks on the ladies in the corner!"

The response was almost immediately met by roars of gratitude and joy. A bard in the corner began to leap up and pluck the strings of his lute, his compatriot laying all of his wind into his flute.

"You've got to be kidding me." Tilse was embarrassed, placing her forehead in her palm. "I'm not against the idea, but this seems... a little excessive."

Hilja refilled both their drinks, lifting the dunmer's wine up and handing it to her. "It's about to get even more excessive. I plan on turning most of my cut into a stimulus budget."

"Hilja..." Tilse scoffed, trying not to break out into laughter from the disbelief. "We just arrived here and you want to bring the town out of its economic depression?"

"It's the best start we've got." Hilja stared directly at her, green iris and red iris meeting one another's gazes. "When we pawned all of our stolen goods to various fences we visited, I really had the positively stupid thought that I was going to spend it all myself. But it just wouldn't work. I want to do this, I want to bring something good out of my crimes."

Tilse's eyebrows arched, her pointy dark elf ears perking up. "You have changed, miss North-Strider."

They lifted their cups, gently nudging them which sounded with a soft 'konk'.

Hilja smiled. "For the better." They both took a drink.


End file.
